At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. He seemed to deliberate.
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